Little Secret

In the dead of
the night
the child slips away
skipping barefoot
towards the river
where there is moonlight
deftly moving between
the natural rustling of
the leaves
nobody knows of the
long-lost innocence
at the edge of the river
the child
lifts their shirt
in the moonlight
to reveal fresh scars
stinging on the slightest touch
they hold their breath and grimace
as they splashes cold water
on streaks of
fire and ice
The resident owl looks on
kindly, knowingly but
the child puts a
finger to their lips
Let this be our little secret
a pinky promise as
they slip back
into the dark